


Future Intertwined

by xMarrrvelx



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xMarrrvelx/pseuds/xMarrrvelx
Summary: Set in a world where everyone has the name of their soulmate on one wrist, and the name of their enemy on the other.Tony Stark grew up believing that he was broken. As a child he soon learned from his mother's pitiful stares and his father's negligence that the names which appeared on his wrists at the tender age of five weren't like anyone else's; that he was destined to grow up without neither lover nor enemy.But he was a Stark, andStark men are made of iron, so he wasn't going to let it faze him. Itwasn'twas fine. Who needs a soulmate anyway?I do.***SLOW UPDATES***





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> First of all, I just wanna point out that this is unedited, so I apologise if there are any mistakes. Please let me know if there are any in the comments!
> 
> I’d also like to say thank you to all of my followers on Instagram for being so supportive, encouraging me to keep going with this, and for helping me name the fic. 
> 
> In this AU:  
> \- Everybody is born with the name of their future soulmate on one hand and their enemy on the other. (I will refer to these as ‘The Names’ lol).  
> -Steve’s identity was kept a secret during the forties (nobody knew he was Captain America)
> 
> IF ANYONE WOULD LIKE TO BETA THIS FOR ME LET ME KNOW!! ;)
> 
> Oh, and I don’t speak Italian. I’m sorry if any of the Italian used in this fic is incorrect (I used google translate).
> 
> I think that’s everything? 
> 
> ...Enjoy!
> 
> (Ooh, and please check the tags for trigger warnings (child abuse). Don’t read this if you think it will trigger you). :)

_I never got to say goodbye to my parents before they died. When they left the house on the cold morning of December 16th, 1991, all I gave them was a quick 'see you later' and a small kiss on Mom's cheek. It was unknown to me then that I would never see them again; that that kiss was the last I'd ever give. It shouldn't have affected me as much as it did, their death. Howard was always so cold; so calculating. He never told me he loved me — he never even told me he liked me. My mom was always warm and loving, but even she grew distant and reserved as I got older. Yet that didn't mean it hurt any less when I received the news._

Still, there must've been a time in their lives when they adored me,  _I told myself._ But when?

* * *

** Friday 29th May, 1970: **

They were silent, waiting with nervous, erratic heartbeats as the doctors and nurses swarmed around the tiny bundle of blankets that enveloped their newborn child. Maria Stark clutched tightly onto Howard Stark's hands, still panting after the pain of labour, and inaudibly prayed for the well-being of their baby.  _Please. Please let him be alright. He's so small, so innocent. Please..._

A howling cry cut through the stillness, harsh and piercing to the ear, yet welcomed by everyone in the room as they sighed with relief. Maria let out a loose, wobbly laugh, lifting her head to give her husband a look so full of joy and happiness that Howard couldn't help but smile back at her, squeezing her hand gently.

In front of them, a young male nurse delicately lifted their baby up with steady, experienced hands, and carefully carried the precious being over to the couple.

He paused by the bed, looked fondly at the two new parents, and announced, "It's a boy!"

" _Oh_ —" Fresh, hot tears spilled onto Maria cheeks as she took her baby — her  _son_  — in her arms, cradling him close to her chest. The child's cries quietened to a barely-audible whimper. New eyes slowly blinked open —  _and, oh, they're so gorgeous: a beautiful brown_  — and peered curiously at Maria (she wondered what he must be thinking: the sudden bright lights and cooler atmosphere must've been so strange in comparison with the dark warmth of her womb) before they darted towards Howard, who was leaning over his wife to get a better look at his son. Howard smiled, and tentatively reached out to slide his finger into his son's open hand, watching with awe as tiny, warm, fragile fingers wrapped automatically around his pinky-finger.

"He's...so small..." Howard began, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

Maria laughed lightly. "He's absolutely stunning...Howard, this...this our  _son_. We—We  _made_  this—this beautiful—"

"I know, dear...I—I can't quite believe it either..."

"I love you," Maria breathed, and Howard couldn't tell if it was for his son — God, didn't that sound strange? His  _son_  — or himself, so he didn't say anything, pressing a kiss to Maria's forehead instead.

"So..." A female nurse said, after a moment of solitude. She smiled warmly. "What are you going to name him?"

Maria bit her lip as a grin spread onto her face, and she looked up at Howard, meeting his eyes and raising one eyebrow. The corners of Howard's mouth upturned into an amused smile, and he nodded once in a silent confirmation.

Gazing back down at her son, Maria whispered: "Anthony. We're going to call him Anthony."

"Anthony..." The nurse beamed at them. "That's a wonderful name."

"Anthony Edward Stark," declared Howard, smiling as he noticed the warmth of their son's — of  _Anthony's_  — breath tickling the back of his hand. "That's his full name."

"Anthony Edward Stark," Maria repeated, nodding. "Yes, that's...wow. Anthony Edward Stark. Our  _son_..."

* * *

  _Growing up, I could never work out what it was that I was doing wrong; why they were always so disappointed in me. I was their son — their_ only _son! It wasn't as if I was living in the shadows of my other siblings, because_ I didn't have any. _Still, the numerous attempts I made to impress them failed every time._

_"That's great, darling," Mom would say with a flat voice and a breathy sigh. "A circuit board. Wow. That's really great..."_

_"What is this? A robot?" Howard would sneer, whiskey in hand. (He'd throw my creations at the wall, scream, yell...) "How pathetic. Come back to me when you actually have something worthy of showing me." (Sometimes there'd be a back-hand across my face, or bruises on my wrists where rough fingertips had pressed into my skin—)_

_It wasn't until I turned five — the day I received The Names — that I realised why._

* * *

** Saturday 29th May, 1975: **

"Mommy! Daddy!" A five-year-old Tony Stark yelled in delight, bouncing up and down on his bed. Having only just woken up, his hair was a curly mess atop his head and his clothes were rumpled (the left leg of his Captain America pyjama bottoms was twisted and bunched up at his thigh; one of his blue socks was missing, presumably lost under his duvet) but the young genius couldn't care less, too occupied with excitement of what the day brought to care about his appearance. Today wasn't any  _normal_  day. It was his  _birthday_ , and  _that_  meant— "I got The Names! Come look,  _come_   _look!"_

Silence followed.

Tony stared at the black handle of his bedroom door, willing for it to turn, for the door to creak open and reveal his parents on the other side, smiling and wishing him happy birthday, yet nothing happened. After several minutes, when no movement occurred, Tony pouted and huffed a sigh, allowing himself to flop backwards onto his bed. The mattress wobbled for a second at the movement, before settling and stilling, and Tony lay there in the quietness, staring at the ceiling for a while.

" _Mommy_..." He whined loudly, kicking his legs in annoyance. He hadn't expected his father to come straight away, but the absence of his mother was unforeseen, and he couldn't help but feel momentarily disappointed. Bringing his arms up in front of his face, Tony eyed the new additions on his wrists, not noticing the obvious abnormality about them that any other person would pick up straight away. Tony just thought they were amazing.

After a moment of gazing at The Names, Tony exhaled slowly, letting his upper limbs fall back onto the bed, and then tried again, shouting: " _Mommyyyyyyy_ —!"

"What are you  _doing_ , boy?!"

With all the distracted shouting, Tony hadn't noticed his door opening. He flinched at the sudden outburst, the familiar voice sending chills down his spine, which shouldn't have been a child's automatic reaction to their father, but this was Howard Stark, and he was—

He was scowling with ferocious fire in his eyes, Tony saw, after titling his head to get a better look. In Howard's hand was a glass, half-filled with brown liquid, and Tony focused his attention on that — swallowing the lump in his throat and thinking  _oh, no, it's one of those days_ — because he was unable to meet his parent's eyes without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat.

"I asked you a Goddamn  _question!"_  Howard practically screamed at Tony's silence, marching forward. Tony was only five, but he was intelligent for his age, and he could tell when someone was drunk — body swaying, words slurring, eyes unfocusing: right now, his father matched this description perfectly. That, and the fact that the 'brown liquid' was undoubtedly alcohol, made Tony immediately panic.  _He's drunk, he's drunk, oh no, he's drunk, Mom, please, where are you, Mom--_

"Daddy..." Tony said quietly, his excitement from before dissolving away into nothingness. "Daddy, I—I got the—"

Howard cut him off with a: "Sit up when you're speaking to me!" Tony complied instantly, trying not to appear as startled as he was — he hadn't realised that his father was now standing so  _close_  to him.

Tony's voice shook as he whispered, "Daddy, look, I—" He forced himself to meet his father's dark, unfriendly eyes. "Daddy—my birthday—I—"

"Do you think I give a damn about your fucking  _birthday?!_ " Oh, no. Now he was swearing. That was never good. "Why are you making such a racket?!"

"Daddy—"

"'Daddy'? _'Daddy'?!_ What the fuck are you — a fucking  _baby?!_ "

Tony ducked his head in shame and brought his knees up to his chest, toes curling. "I'm sorry..."

Howard ignored him. "Goddamn it. First I have the company's finance issues to deal with—" He downed the rest of his drink in one go, then carelessly tossed the empty glass onto the floor. It didn't break as it smashed the fluffy carpet —  _thank God_ , Tony thought — but the sudden action made Tony jump with fright, and his hands tightened from where they were wrapped around himself, as though curling himself even further into a ball would resolve anything. "—and then I have to put up with a useless  _baby_  screaming it's fucking head off?!"

"I—" Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "I'm sorry—"

" _GET BACK TO BED!_ " Howard roared, and Tony actually yelped then, tears brimming in his eyes. What had he done wrong? "Get back in that fucking  _bed_ , you ignorant little—"

" _Dad_ —"

"Don't you  _dare_  make another sound. Get back under that duvet,  _now_ , and  _shut the fuck_   _up_ , or so help me, I will make you do it myself!" Tony knew what that meant, and suddenly he could barely breathe, but he did as the man commanded, and with fumbling fingers reached for the duvet that was in a ball at the foot of the bed and pulled it over himself. Howard observed him as he did so, glaring with disgust, and Tony settled stiffly into his pillow, forcing his lips together in order to remain quiet, and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was silence. And then some shuffling. And then—

"If I hear another peep outta you," Howard threatened suddenly, his voice so close to Tony's ear that the boy could feel his breath against his cheek; could smell the strong stench of whiskey. "I'll make sure you're  _never_  physically able to say another word again. D'you understand?"

Howard had always acted harshly towards Tony, especially when he was drunk, but this was the first time he'd ever threatened the five-year-old — unbeknownst to Tony at this point in his life, the relationship between himself and his father would, over time, rapidly decline to the point where a threat would be seen as a  _compliment_  in comparison to what else Howard would do; but that was years away, and Tony new nothing about it at this moment in time, so hearing his father verbally threaten him was the scariest thing he'd witnessed (he  _was_  only five). So much so that he didn't reply, to afraid to 'make another sound'.

"I asked you a fucking  _question_ , Anthony," Howard spat, and Tony felt himself shake all over, as he mumbled:

"Yes, sir. S-Sorry, sir..." Using 'sir' was the only way to win Howard over sometimes, though it didn't always work. Thankfully —  _thankfully_  — though, this time it seemed to do the trick, because all Howard did was huff in reply, and then there was more shuffling, getting quieter and quieter until—

The slamming of the door made Tony stiffen in shock; he waited for what felt like eternity to make sure that Howard wasn't coming back, and then opened his eyes.

Across the room, on the floor, was the glass from earlier, tilted on it's side. Sunlight poured into the room from the window on the opposite wall, and Tony observed the way the glass winked at him from where the light reflected off it's clear surface with silent tears pouring down his face.

* * *

When Maria Stark entered the bedroom later and found her son, the birthday boy, curled up tight in a ball and looking ever so small, her heart ached. As she drew nearer, she noted the dry tear tracks on his red cheeks and the way his tiny little hands clutched tightly, like his life depended on it, onto his Bucky Bear, and felt like crying herself.  _Tony, oh, Tony, was has he done to you_ _, Tony, Tony—_

Tony was only half-asleep, so when he felt the bed dip, he immediately opened his eyes, pupils darting about in fright as he searched for Howard. He couldn't help but let out a scared whimper, and though it was only a quiet little noise, it didn't go unheard.

"Shh, shh..." Maria immediately soothed him, leaning forward and resting her hand on Tony's small shoulder. "It's alright,  _tesoro_. Mama's here."

"Mama?" Tony whispered, blinking away the blurriness of his vision slowly.

When it was just the two of them, Tony often called his mother 'Mama', but with anyone else, it was always 'Mommy'. Maria didn't understand why, but that didn't matter; it was clearly a name full of love, given the softness that appeared in Tony's voice whenever he said it, and that was all that mattered in Maria's eyes.

"Yes,  _tesoro_ , that's right. I'm here, you're alright," She spoke gently, like she was talking to a spooked animal. Lifting her hand from his back, she reached out and caressed her son's cheek, cupping the side of his face and tenderly rubbing away the tear stained with the warm pad of her thumb. " _Cosa ti ha fatto?"_

 _"Era cattivo con me."_ Tony breathed, closing his eyes. He felt his Mama's light fingers brush away the hair from his forehead and warmth instantly flooded inside of him; he instantly felt safer. Italian was his Mama's mother tongue, and though Tony was still learning, the words 'he was mean to me' were easy for him to say now, after having repeated them on so many other occasions like this.

It was a vague statement, but Maria knew what it meant. " _Oh_ ,  _bambino_.  _Oh_ , _tu poverino.”_ She could feel tears flooding her own eyes now. "Come—come here—"

Tony practically jumped into her open arms, desperate for the human contact. "Mama.  _Mama_ —"

"Shh, shh," Maria hushed him, pulling him closer. Tony nestled into the crook between her neck and her shoulder, breath hitching, and felt those same fingers from before intertwine with his brown locks. "Don't cry, _mio angelo_. Don't cry."

They sat like that, Tony curled up in Maria's arms, for only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. When the five-year-old had finally calmed down, Maria pulled away from the hug and forced her son to look at her by hooking a finger under his chin and gently tilting his head up towards her.

Maria smiled at him. "I'm sorry,  _tesoro_. You shouldn't be sad today." He shouldn't be sad  _any_  day.

"Mama?" Tony questioned, biting his lip nervously.

"Happy birthday,  _mio angelo_."

"Mama..." Tony replied slowly, face breaking out into a grin. Within seconds, all the terror and dismay from before left the boy's eyes, replaced with glee and giddiness, and Maria watched in amusement as Tony wriggled out from underneath the blankets, kicking the duvet away from him until it became a twisted ball near his feet. "Mama! Guess what?"

Maria knew what was coming — it was her son's  _fifth_  birthday, after all, and she wasn't an idiot —  and decided to play along in order to avoid ruining Tony's excitement, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes. "What?"

Tony giggled, and started tugging at his sleeves, pushing them up to his elbows to reveal his tanned forearms. "I got The Names! Look, look!"

Maria couldn't help but laugh at her son's excitement, although for a moment she felt a pang of guilt. This was a big deal, after all — turning five and receiving your Names was what everyone had to go through, and usually a ceremony of some sort took place (Maria would have to organise that for another day) — so shouldn't Howard be there too? He  _was_  Tony's father...

But then Maria thought back to the state she'd found Tony in: the tears on his cheeks; the way he'd flinched; the fear in his eyes...no child should have to feel like that, and if Howard's presence caused such a reaction, then...

"Let me see them, then," Maria replied, pushing the thought of her husband out of her mind. She beamed at her son, earning a goofy grin in return, and observed as the young boy turned his arms over, so that his wrists were facing upwards, and—and—

And there they were.

The Names.

They were too miniscule for Maria to read from where she was sat, yet still clearly visible. They both looked as she expected, with two different fonts: neat cursive on his left wrist; rough and disjointed on his right. Once, Maria had believed that the fonts meant something (surely the rougher-looking handwriting belonged to your enemy?) but as she got older, she realised that wasn't the case. Friends of hers had soulmates whose names were made up of chicken-scratch-like letters, and enemies with calligraphic fonts...even the 'Howard Stark' she had on her own left wrist was incredibly messy and hard to decipher. (Maria used to believe that he was her enemy, because there was actually no way of telling whether it was true — you just had to see where fate led you — and all she had was the rough writing to go by. But Howard had sworn almost desperately that they were soulmates, so much so that it was only months after their first meeting when they were getting married, and gradually Maria fell in love with him. (On the contrary, after seeing the way he behaved with Tony...well. Maria was now wondering if her first judgement was actually the right one)). Still, it was—

"Mama,  _look_!" Tony expressed eagerly, startling Maria out of her thoughts. She turned back towards him and plastered a smile on her face once again. "I'm a big boy now, Mama!"

"Yes, yes you are,  _tesoro_." Maria said cheerfully "But let me  _see_ , darling!  _Vieni più vicino!_ "

Tony giggled again, before practically shoving his arms in his mother's face, just missing her by centimetres. Maria raised her eyebrows, but the smile on her face mustn't have been as hidden as she presumed, because all her son did was laugh even more.

Carefully, Maria wrapped each of her hands around one of Tony's delicate wrists, shifted closer to get a better look, and—

And—

Wait.

_What?_

That couldn't be—

"Mama?"

That couldn't be  _right_ —

"Mama!" Tony tried again, eyebrows furrowing. His mother had gone strangely quiet, her face pale, her mouth agape...and she was staring at his arms with an indescribable look in her eyes. It was something foreign — something that wouldn't normally be written all over her facial features like it was at that moment — and Tony couldn't fathom what had caused it. What did he do? Was it something he'd said? "Mama, what's wrong?"

Maria blinked and met her son's brown eyes with her own, saw the confusion and worry in his eyes, and immediately snapped out of her shocked state, thinking: _he's only young, he's just a boy, he doesn't understand_ —

"There's—There's nothing wrong, dear," Maria lied, hoping that Tony didn't pick up on the way her voice wavered. "It's just..." She paused, wondering what to say. Tony was observing her carefully, listening somewhat gingerly to every word she said, eyes wide in anticipation...Maria realised instantly that she had to be careful with what she stated next, because Tony — her bright, beautiful,  _innocent_  boy — clearly hadn't noticed that there was anything wrong with his wrists. To him, The Names were flawless: that was clear from the excited look in his eyes. Furthermore, Maria had seen how enthusiastic and eager Tony had been over the last few days leading up to his birthday, and knew full well how important The Names were to him...she couldn't ruin that for him. "I hadn't expected them to be so... _notevole_."

" _Note_... _vole_...?" Tony said slowly, the word new to him. "Is that Talian, Mama?"

" _It_ alian, darling," Maria corrected him with a chuckle. "And yes, it was.  _Notevole_. It means remarkable." That was certainly one way of describing them...

" _Ohhhhh_ ," Tony drawled, tilting his head and biting his lip: it was an action that he often did while learning something. " _Note_... _notevole?"_

Maria smiled, letting go of his wrists. "Yes, that's right," She praised him, reaching out to ruffle his dark curly hair.

 _"Notevole. Notevole,"_  Tony giggled, and Maria tried to focus on the sound of that instead of the worried thoughts that were flooding her mind:  _what is Howard going to say? What if he...hurts Tony? How am I supposed to_ — "... _Notevole!_ "

"Well done,  _tesoro_ ," Maria said softly. Tony grinned, then gazed down at his wrists.

" _Notevole_..."

Maria smiled at her son, but her mind was elsewhere. What was she going to do? Tony was too young to understand what was wrong with his Names...and she wanted to protect his innocence for as long as possible. No child should grow up feeling like they were broken.

"Mama?" Tony questioned, interrupting her thoughts. "Is Jarvis and Aunt Peggy coming today?"

Maria turned to face Tony once again, laying her hand flat on the bed beside him. " _Are_ Jarvis and Peggy,  _mio angelo_ ," She corrected, and Tony nodded, though Maria couldn't tell if it was because he'd realised his mistake or simply because he wanted her to carry on, eager for an answer. Knowing her child, it was probably the latter. "But, yes, I think they will be."

Pure delight shone in Tony's eyes at the answer. He'd always admired Edwin Jarvis and Margaret "Peggy" Carter -- the former had once worked as the Stark Family butler, but now, during his retirement, he was simply a family friend who often visited their home; the latter had famously worked with the SSR during World War Two...and was once, of course, a close friend of Captain America: the world's first and only super-soldier, who'd sacrificed himself in order to save the world, and was known as a hero to many, many people (Tony included, if the numerous posters covering his walls and the countless pieces of merchandise he owned was anything to go by).

"Yay!" Tony squealed, suddenly ecstatic. "D'ya think Aunt Peggy's gonna tell me some more Cap stories?!"

Maria laughed at his excitement -- the boy was practically bouncing with energy -- and said, "Of course she will! Especially today,  _festeggiato_."

Tony wrinkled his nose adorably in confusion. "What does  _that_ mean?"

"It means 'birthday boy' birthday boy," Maria remarked, poking Tony lightly in the ribs. The young genius squeaked in surprise, eyes wide, but quickly started giggling.

_"Mamaaaaa!"_

Maria let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in amusement. She stayed with Tony for a few more minutes, before saying, "Stay here, darling. I'm just going to ring Edwin to see if he is coming after all," Tony pouted at that, so she quickly added: "Which I'm sure he will be!"  _I also need to tell someone else about your Names, and Howard certainly won't take the news well..._ "I'll be right back,  _mio angelo_."

"Okay!" Tony said happily, flopping backwards onto his pillows. Maria smiled and stood up to leave, and was just about to exit when Tony asked hesitantly: "Mama? Am I going to get my presents soon?"

When Maria looked back at her son, she found him staring questioningly at her with a cheeky, brazen glint in his eye, as though he knew he shouldn't be asking such a forward question, yet couldn't help himself. She shook her head fondly, clicking her tongue, and said:

"Yes, you will, you _piccolo_ _sfacciata_ ," she teased, and before Tony could ask her about what that meant in English, she added, "But good things only come to those who wait, tesoro. You'll get them later, when other guests have arrived for your party."

Despite the disappointed feeling he had knowing that he'd have to wait for his gifts, Tony couldn't help but grin: with all the excitement of finally getting his Names, he'd completely forgotten about his party! "Okay, Mama," he said, still smiling widely like the Cheshire Cat.

"I won't be long, tesoro," Maria reassured him, before leaving.

Tony watched her disappear through his doorway, and sighed happily, the terrifying encounter he'd had with his father long forgotten. Today was gonna be a good day after all.

* * *

_Yeah, so, the happiness didn't last. But what did you expect? I'm_ _me _ _._

_It turned out that Howard hadn't gone far after our little...argument. Within minutes after my mother had left, he was coming back into my room. There was a something unusual about him, and it almost looked like guilt was written all over his face, but to this day I never actually found out what he was initially coming to tell me (was he going to apologise? Call me more names? Hit me, perhaps? That last one wouldn't have surprised me) because as soon as he saw my wrists, a monstrous anger was unleashed in his eyes, and he was storming out of my room as quickly as he'd come in, muttering 'freak' under his breath before shouting furiously for my mother._

_My parents often argued: it happened so regularly that usually I didn't pay attention. This time, however, I listened, curious after what had just happened. And the more I did so, the more I regretted the choice, because their dispute completely_ shattered  _any positivity I'd had about my Names; it made me realise that I was...well. You'll see._

* * *

"Maria!" Howard very nearly screamed, blood boiling in his veins. His wife was currently nowhere to be found, but the man knew full well that she'd just been speaking with their brat of a child, so she couldn't have travelled too far.

He strode irefully down one of the many corridors of the mansion, fists clenched by his sides, turned a corner, and--

And there she was.

_"Maria!"_

His wife froze in her tracks, back straightening automatically at his harsh tone. She could hear his thundering footsteps getting nearer and nearer as she wearily turned around, and as she caught sight of his face, her heart dropped into her stomach. _He knows, I can tell, oh Dio, he knows—_

"H-Howard—"

_"Why didn't you tell me about our son's disability?"_

Maria stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb, Maria," Howard snapped, narrowing his eyes. "You know  _full well_ what I'm talking about." There was no way she'd not seen Tony's...whatever the hell it was on his wrists. "His—His wrists—"

"The Names? Yes, I'm aware of them." So she did know. "We all have them, Howard. What's the problem?"

Howard couldn't believe this.  _What was the—?!_  "What's the problem?! Anthony's are the same! On each wrist—He has—"

"I know, Howard," Maria said calmly, infuriating Howard even more.

"It's the  _same name—_ "

"I am fully aware—"

"And you didn't think to mention it?!"

Maria seemed unfazed by his outburst, but on the inside her heart was hammering rapidly with fear. "I didn't think I needed to."

"Why not?!" Maria held her tongue, refusing to say what she was thinking:  _because only moments before I saw Tony, you'd been terrorising him._  "Maria, this—this  _thing_ , whatever the fuck it is, is not  _normal—_ "

"'Not normal'?" Maria scoffed, and, yeah, okay, perhaps it wasn't very common to have identical Names on your wrists, but there was no way she was going to start viewing her son as abnormal. "Howard, every child gets the names. We have the—"

"Yeah, two  _different_ names!" Howard sneered, edging further towards her.

Maria forced herself to stay calm. "Just because the names are identical doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Tony—"

"Of course it does—"

" _Maybe..._ " Maria carried on, ignoring his interruption. "Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe Tony's future lover just happens to have the same name as his enemy."

Howard shook his head. "That's ridiculous. Nobody has ever—"

"Well, there's a first time for everything,  _Howard_ ," Maria finally snapped, bravely stepping forward.

Her husband narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and spat: "Don't give me that  _bullshit_ , Maria!"

Maria stayed quiet, swallowing a lump in her throat. But she refused to look away, and considered it a mini-triumph when, after several seconds of silence, Howard was the first to avert his gaze.

But the pleasant feeling quickly vanished. Howard turned back to her, one hand running stressfully through his dark hair, and snarled: "We can't let anyone find out about this. Do you understand? If people hear about Anthony's condition, we'll be  _ruined—_ "

"Howard—"

"I can't have people knowing that the heir to my company is a  _freak—_ "

" _Howard—_!"

"Do you  _understand?"_ Howard snapped, taking one step forward. His wife did the opposite, eyes wide, the fear suddenly evident in her eyes. After receiving no answer, Howard closed the gap between them, and repeated his question.

Suddenly, a small cry interrupted their quarrel. "Mama?!"

"What the  _fuck_ is he calling you that for—?!"

"I'm coming, sweetie!" Maria, thankful for having an excuse to escape, turned in the direction of her son's call, ready to go and see him. But Howard was roughly grabbing her arm before she could move anywhere, his hard grip undoubtedly leaving finger-shaped bruised on her arm, and yanked her in his direction so that she was forced to face him.

"Ignore it." He hissed, spitting in her face. "You answer me right now, Maria, or I swear to God, I'll—"

"Howard, please, you're hurting me," Maria pleaded, struggling to escape his grasp. The man simply tightened his grip, ignoring her complaints, and Maria gasped in pain. " _Howard—_ "

"Do you understand me—" Howard growled, shoving her against the wall. "—or  _not_?"

Maria visibly swallowed, whole body shaking. She wanted to protest further, but Howard had a dangerous look in his eye, and she knew that is she pushed him anymore he'd—

Well.

She couldn't bare to think of what else he'd do.

And so, instead of defending her son anymore, Maria exhaled a shaky sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat, and whispered hoarsely: "Yes. I—I understand."

Howard narrowed his eyes, but gave a sharp nod and released her. "Good."

Maria's uninjured arm automatically went to where he'd been holding her, hand wrapping tightly around the bruised area, the pressure distracting her from the panic that was setting in, and she watched as he turned on his heel and left her there, undoubtedly heading off towards his liquor cabinet.

After collecting herself with three slow, long, deep breaths, Maria made her way back to Tony's room, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

* * *

_She didn't have to tell me anything. I'd heard the full thing._

_The names on my wrists weren't like anyone else's. I wasn't normal. I was a 'freak'._

_I was destined to grow up without an enemy, but also without a soulmate. Because I'd have no way of knowing, when I met this 'Steve Rogers', if he was destined to be the one who loved me, or the one who hated me. I was destined to be alone._

_I was...broken._

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say a massive thank you to **lucyastoyan** for being a wonderful beta and editing this for me. :)
> 
> ***Trigger warnings are in the end notes***

**Present Day:**

When he'd first taken off the cowl and revealed himself with a small "Hi, I'm Steve Rogers," to the team, nobody had seemed surprised. Instead, an awkward silence had followed, and then Dr Banner was clearing his throat and questioning, "Does anyone know if anybody else is joining us?" and suddenly everyone was talking about something else.

It made sense, he supposed: Director Fury and Agent Romanov had no doubt seen his face an infinite amount of times back when he was still recovering from the ice; Thor, the Asgardian God of Thunder — and Steve was still trying to wrap his head around _that_ — probably (definitely) had no idea who he was, so it was logical that his only reaction was a simple shrug of his large shoulders. And Dr Banner had undoubtedly been shocked enough times to last a lifetime (Steve had read up on the Hulk's backstory) so much so that something as simple as Steve revealing his identity just didn't faze him. It made sense.

Still, that didn't mean it hadn't hurt any less. The disregard they'd shown for him was yet another reminder of how he didn't belong here; that this wasn't his home; that he'd have been better off dying on the _Valkyrie_ rather than surviving and living the next seventy or so years quite literally frozen in time, waking up in a world where all of his loved ones were dead and technology had advanced so much that Steve's head spun just thinking about it and cars didn't fly but they certainly appeared to do so with how fast they were being driven and everything was so bright and modern and _loud_ and there were so many _people_ —

Yeah. 

"Stark should be coming anytime soon," Agent Romanov stated, and Steve lifted his head just in time to see her — she was sat opposite him — roll her eyes. "But 'anytime soon' could mean hours when it comes to him. He's not exactly known for having good punctuality."

 _Stark?_ Steve thought, sparing a glance a his wrists for a moment before averting his blue eyes towards Dr Banner.

"Ah, right," The scientist replied with a nod, his lips pressing together into a dry smile as he folded his arms and ducked his head. He didn't say anything else, clearly knowing, unlike Steve, who Agent Romanov was talking about; nobody bothered to make another remark, so the room fell into yet another awkward silence.

Steve sighed quietly, drumming his fingers on the glass table, and wondered when the action — the leading, the fighting; the one thing he was _good_ at — was going to start, because this...this wasn't exactly entertaining.

Originally, he'd assumed that joining this team would be the best thing to help him adjust to his new, modern life; that he'd start to view them as his family, like he had done with the Howling Commandos; that they would help him achieve a sense of normality in this vast world.

But so far, his first impressions of this team were nothing of the sort. Nobody had really spoken to him yet (except for Agent Romanov, but that encounter had only lasted for about a minute, in which all they'd done was exchanged greetings) or bothered to fully explain why he was here — because he'd only been told about who we was fighting with; not who he was fighting. And everyone was so quiet all the time (even Thor, who, according to Fury, was usually quite loud). Steve wondered how on earth he was supposed to start a conversation with any of them when nobody was willing to speak more than a—

"...but _I_ thought Fury didn't want me to be part of this super-secret boyband?"

Steve looked up in surprise at the sound of someone new entering the room. He caught sight of Agent Romanov doing the same, but unlike Steve, who was eager to see who the speaker was, her face held a flat, expressionless look which made Steve question whether or not she already knew who it was — if that was the case, it was clearly someone she found irritating. 

"Yes, well..." That was another voice, but this time Steve knew who it belonged to: Agent Coulson. The blond had only met the man a few times, but already saw him as a friend; he was so far the nicest, most approachable person he had encountered in this century — although Steve couldn't help but wonder if that was only because Coulson was clearly a Captain America fanboy, if the endless merchandise that he'd had Steve sign was anything to go by — and he was the first person who's treated Steve like a normal person. "We soon realised—"

"Ah, ah, ah! No excuses!" The original voice interrupted, and there was something humorous about the way they spoke, like they knew that they were pushing their luck and _loved_ it. "Admit it, Agent: S.H.I.E.L.D. just couldn't afford me." Ah, so the man also had an ego — Steve could now somewhat comprehend why Agent Romanov reacted the way she did.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stark," Coulson replied dryly. Steve's eyes widened. Stark. So he was the one who—

Then the two men turned around the corner, revealing themselves to the team, and Steve pushed aside his thoughts, suddenly unable to do anything but stare.

While Coulson moved in a slow, processional way, Stark seemed to prowl like a lion, acting like he owned the place; with his well-groomed goatee and dashing suit — that was clearly worth more money than Steve had ever had in his lifetime — the blond wouldn't be surprised if the brunet actually _did_ own the helicarrier. The man in question certainly seemed to think so, as he automatically strode over to the computers at the front of the room like they were his own, head held high, and confidently began tapping on their screens, his fingers traveling so fast as he worked that Steve had trouble keeping his eyes on them.

Coulson narrowed his eyes and called out, " _Stark_. What do you think you're—"

"Just making myself at home, dear," Stark interrupted, sarcasm practically dripping from every word. He ignored any further protests that Coulson made, and continued working away with the devices, until, finally, he hummed quietly and lifted his hands away from the desk, nodding to himself. Then he clapped his hands together, the sudden noise startling Steve, and turned to face everyone. "So," He said slowly, a tight smile on his face. "This is the team, huh?"

Steve looked around the room in disbelief. Was nobody going to question Stark's strange behavior? Or was this just normal for—

"You're Thor, right?" Stark continued, either not noticing everyone's stares or blatantly ignoring them as he wandered over to the God of Thunder with half a smile on his face. His eyes roamed over one of Thor's large muscular arms before he patted the muscle there with the back of his hand, raising his eyebrows. "God, I can't believe—oh, and you've even got the hammer and everything, wow. I can see why Fury kept his eye on you, Point Break." _Point Break?_ Thor peered down at the smaller man with a frown on his face, and inched away from the touch. "What?" Stark continued, noticing the God's movement. "I can't touch this?"

There was a pause.

Then, "Get it? 'Cause he has a hammer, and—and _MC Hammer_ —"

What? Steve looked aimlessly around the room: Thor looked just as perplexed as Steve felt; Agent Romanov's countenance hadn't changed at all — she still looked as unamused as ever; Dr Banner was actually smiling, and that, paired with the fact that Agent Coulson was holding his head in his right hand and sighing, made Steve realise that perhaps he'd missed something. A reference, maybe? _Great, yet another thing I don't know about this century—_

"Aw, c'mon, guys. That was a great joke!" Stark continued, grinning like a child receiving candy. The behavior was completely different to how he'd been moments before, and Steve couldn't help but smile at the youthful, joyous look that had gathered in Stark's eyes all of a sudden. _He looks happy; it suits him._ At the silence that followed his comment, Stark rolled his eyes, the smile slipping off his face. "Ouch. Tough crowd."

Behind him, Agent Romanov scoffed bitterly, and it didn't go unheard; Stark turned to her with amusement in his eyes and an even wider smile on his face — although anyone could tell that this one was (intentionally) fake; gone was the happiness, replaced with something more resentful. "Oh, Natalie! You're here too! _Fantastic_." Steve could've sworn he heard the redhead _growl_ , and turned to her in surprise, but he was ignored — she was too busy staring daggers at Stark. "Wow," Stark added, his tone dry. "This is like one of those awkward family reunions that nobody wants to be at." _Had they met each other before?_ "Hey, where's Tweedledum at, Tweedledee?"

Natasha's face remained cold as she muttered, "Clint's compromised." _Clint?_ "Didn't you listen to—" 

"Yeah, uh, listening isn't really my style." Stark cut in, and suddenly Steve could see why everyone (minus Thor, who'd never met Stark before) had reacted the way they did at Stark's presence: the man was so _rude_. "Unless a genius is speaking, which reminds me..." Steve watched as the brunet wandered forward until he was just meters away from Dr Banner, and said, "Dr Banner. I thought I could smell intelligence in the air."

"Oh," The scientist mumbled, actually blushing as he shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. "No, I—I wouldn't say that I'm—"

"Banner, you're a Goddamn intellectual — and that's a fact — so shut up." Stark interrupted, fondly rolling his eyes.

 _He actually has quite nice—Stop. You don't even know him. He probably_ — 

"Captain America."

Steve jumped and automatically straightened in his seat, eyes darting around the room in search of the speaker until he caught sight of Stark smirking at him. _Of course._

"You seem on edge, Capsicle." _Capsicle?_ "I'd have thought for a super-soldier you'd be more alert. Enhanced hearing and all that," Stark teased. Steve couldn't tell if his tone was sarcastic and bitter or simply humorous, but before he could get a word in, the brunet was speaking again. "You know, my _dear_ ol' dad never mentioned your name whenever he spoke about you — and _God_ , did he speak about you — because he said you had a secret identity, or something like that, which sounds pretty corny to be honest, but, I don't know, I was too busy trying to impress him, I guess, to listen properly, but, like, you've got your cowl off and everything, so—"

 _God, how can he talk so fast?_ "When they pulled me outta the ice, my 'secret identity' wasn't that much of a secret anymore," Steve bluntly cut in. 

Stark raised his eyebrows at the interruption, wrinkling his nose. "Well, are you gonna tell us your name, then? Or would you prefer to be called _Capsicle_ for the rest of your life?" He sneered, and Steve gritted his teeth in frustration, resisting the urge to snap, I already have, but you showed up late and missed it. "Or maybe I could switch it up a bit, call you something else from time to time. How'd you feel about that, _Debbie Harry?"_

Steve blinked at him slowly. "What."

"Because you're blond? Get it? _Debbie Ha_ —oh, my God, it's a _Blondie_ reference, you uncultured swine."

" _Excuse_ me?" Steve snapped suddenly, not having the slightest idea what Stark was blabbering on about yet feeling insulted all the same.

"What, did you miss the 1970s or something?" Stark accused, clearly trying to taunt the blond.

Steve's hands clenched into tight fists. "Yes," he seethed, staring right into Stark's brown eyes. "I did."

It fell silent, _again_. Stark stepped backwards, as though he'd been punched him, and Steve could've sworn he saw him swallowing. Behind them, Agent Coulson cleared his throat, but Steve payed him no attention, continuing to glare at Stark. Then there was a slight twinge of pain in his forearms; Steve tried to ignore it, but doing so only seemed to make the ache worse, and so Steve took his eyes off the brunet in front of him and spared a glance at his wrists, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. _What the—_

"Oh." And then Stark was speaking again, distracting Steve, who looked up at the noise and found the smaller man rocking backwards and forwards on his heels with his hands behind his back. "Sorry," He mumbled, and even though Steve barely knew the man, it was clear that the sudden softness of Stark's voice wasn't something he showed often. "That was, uh, pretty insensitive of me. I forgot about the...um..." 

"Yeah," Steve muttered, slowly unclenching his fists. The throbbing of his forearms seemed to fade as he did so, so Steve figured he'd probably just gotten carried away with his strength and not realised how tightly he'd been clenching his hands. Yeah. That was it. It wasn't—there was no way he'd be lucky enough to—no.

"Okay, well, now I feel like an asshole, so how about we start over?" Stark said, extending his right hand. Steve eyed it carefully, and Stark scoffed and rolled his eyes. Again. "Oh, c'mon. I'm not gonna bite."

Steve sighed and looked around the room. Everyone was watching them closely, and, while Thor and Dr Banner held neutral expressions on their faces, both Coulson and Agent Romanov seemed somewhat surprised by Stark's actions: their eyebrows were raised curiously, and they kept sparing glances at each other. Huh. 

Stark must've noticed them too, because he said, "What? I can be _nice_." Steve turned back to face him, and Stark lifted his hand again. It was rough and calloused, Steve noticed — clearly the hands of a workman of some sort (an engineer, perhaps? Or a builder? Steve wasn't sure) — but the palm looked smooth and inviting. "C'mon, Captain," Stark urged quietly.

Steve sighed in defeat, smiled gently, and finally connected their hands. Stark's lips upturned at the corners, and Steve could've sworn he felt him gently squeeze his hand, but Steve was too distracted with how soft and warm Stark's palm was to determine whether or not he'd imagined it.

"Steve Rogers," He said in greeting, trying to keep his voice steady. "My name, that is," He added, then grimaced immediately afterwards with how cringeworthy it sounded. _He knows it's your name, you idiot. What else would it be?_

He felt Stark loosen his grip, and realised that it was probably time for him to let go, so he did just that, dropping his hand back to the table.

But Stark's hand remained frozen in the air, and when Steve looked up in confusion, he saw that his eyes were wide and his mouth agape.

Steve frowned. "St—Mr Stark? Is something wrong?" 

Stark swallowed, slowly lowering his hand (Steve noticed that his fingers were shaking) and said, "No, nothing—nothing's wrong." His voice was quivering as much as his fingers. "I just—" He shook his head to himself, stepping away from Steve. The blond's face fell further, and he wondered what he'd done wrong.

"Stark?" Coulson questioned, stepping forward. A tense atmosphere settled amongst them; everyone was watching the brunet carefully, wondering what had just happened; what he was going to do next.

Stark's eyes darted between them all, but not once did he stare at Steve. _He's avoiding eye contact,_ Steve realised. _Why?_

"Sorry," Stark blurted suddenly, his voice wavering. Steve noticed that his chest was beginning to rise and fall in erratic, uneven movements. "I just—I have to—"  He was subconsciously wringing his hands in front of him, as well, like he needed a distraction from...from whatever had just happened. "I—" 

"Mr Stark," Steve said, slowly and carefully, as though one incorrect word would send Stark bolting away like a scared animal, because that's what he currently reminded Steve of: a deer caught in headlights. "Are you alright?"

Stark didn't look at him; wouldn't look at him. Instead, he took a step back, muttered, "No, I—I need to go—I have to...I have to go," and abruptly took off towards the nearest exit, leaving Steve and the rest of the team speechless.

After a moment of silence, Steve sat back in his chair, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and met Agent Romanov's eyes. "What just happened?"

* * *

Tony wasn't sure where he was heading, but, as he stumbled past several confused-looking agents (one of them called out his name, but he didn't see who it was; he didn't look back, either — _just keep moving forward_ ) all he knew was that he had to get out of that room, off of the helicarrier, away from everything and everyone, because—because—

_Steve Rogers._

A pair of doors appeared on his left, and Tony practically fell through them, landing himself in an empty — thank _God_ — room. He tried to steady himself against the nearest wall with one hand (the other was working its way through his shirt and towards his chest, where the arc reactor sat) as best as he could, but there was a throbbing ache in his lungs and he couldn't really breathe and the room was spinning and—and—

_Steve Rogers Steve Rogers Steve Rogers Steve—_

"Oh, God," Tony whispered, sliding down the cool wall until he hit the floor. He drew his knees to his chest, slowly bringing his arms up to rest on top of his legs, and tucked his head into the dark space he'd created, blocking out the outside world. _Breathe breathe breathe breathe—_

* * *

Steve's wrists burned.

Around him, everyone was arguing about what had just happened; about how to deal with Stark. Each individual had ideas about what to do, but nobody was thinking about Stark's well-being. It was like they didn't care, and Steve wasn't having any of it. 

Sharply, he stood up. The sudden movement silenced everyone, and they all simultaneously turned to face him with various expressions — some were neutral, others were frustrated — on their faces.

"I'm going to go find him."

* * *

 

_He's a freak._

_Aunt Peggy, am I broken?_

_No,_ tesoro _. Only your father knows his real name._

_Howard! That's enough!_

_My son, Tony...he has this condition._

_Steve Rogers._

_The doctors said there's nothing they can do._

_You're not broken, darling._

_Help him._

_You're just...different._

_My name, that is._

_Now what are we supposed to do?!_

_He'll never find love._

_I've never seen anything like it._

_What the hell?!_

_You want me to be nice to...that?!_

_He won't tell you, darling._

_Woah, dude. What's up with your wrists?!_

_Why won't daddy tell me his name?_

_He'll never find love._

_Have you seen the new guy? He's only fourteen._

_Because it's a secret identity._

_I heard he's got fucked-up Names._

_Well, he's got a fucked-up face to match._

_Won't be able to tell if they're his lover or enemy._

_I thought the great Tony Stark was flawless?_

_Steve Rogers Steve Rogers Steve Rogers._

_Worthless piece of shit._

_Pathetic excuse for a son._

_He'll never find love._

_The heir to Stark Industries is a freak._

_What's this?!_

_Howard!_

_Don't tell me you're a faggot as well as a freak?!_

_Different. Broken. Worthless. Pathetic. Fucked-Up._

_He'll never find love._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People were standing just outside the doors; he could hear them shouting his name — pretending to care about him — yet nobody dared to actually enter the room.

 

They were probably wondering what the great Tony Stark was doing curled up in a pathetic ball on the floor, shaking and gasping for air like a fish out of water.

He couldn't care less.

 

 _Just wait it out,_ he kept saying to himself, repeating it like a mantra. _Just wait it out. Breathe. Wait it out. It's just a panic attack. Wait it out. Just wait it out._

Tony's wrists burned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Steve Rogers._

* * *

Steve declaration surprised not only the team but himself. _Did I really just say that? I barely know him._

"Are you sure that is wise?" Thor questioned, stepping forward. "Please don't take offense by my next words, but it seemed as though you were the reason why the man fled in the first place."

"Nah," Agent Romanov muttered. "Captain Rogers had nothing to do with it; this is just typical behavior of Stark. Grabbing everyone's attention, then making a scene—"

"I'm going to go find him," Steve echoed stubbornly, ignoring Agent Romanov's description of the brunet. "And I'm going to _help_ him, because that's what teammates do, _regardless_ of what you think of them."

"Steve," Dr Banner said, stepping forward. His voice was gentle, and it was the first time anybody, except for Coulson, had called him by his first name in this century, so Steve forced himself not to interrupt and to listen. "It's possible that you triggered something...and you turning up could make it worse—"

"Make _what_ worse?" Agent Romanov scoffed. "And talking about _triggers?_ You're acting like—"

"Like it was a panic attack. Which it was," Coulson cut in, sharply. He gave a stern glare in Agent Romanov's direction, and though he didn't say anything, the silent message he sent was loud and clear: _stand down._ The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent turned towards the scientist. "Right, Dr Banner?"

"I'm really not that kind of doctor..." The brunet replied, smiling awkwardly. "But Stark _did_ have all the telltale signs. It certainly _looked_ like a panic attack to me."

"There was nothing in his file that mentioned PTSD—"

"He probably hacked into it and changed it," Coulson stated with a sigh. "He's done that before." 

"And you don't have to have PTSD to have panic attacks," Dr Banner added, looking grim.

"PT...SD?" Thor questioned, tilting his head. "I don't understand."

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," The scientist informed him kindly. Thor smiled with gratitude. "It's an anxiety disorder that occurs as a result of injury or severe physiological rshock."

"Ah, I see," Thor nodded his head slowly, his voisce low. "We have something similar on Asgard. It affects many of our warriors; plagues them with flashbacks and night terrors."

"Isn't that just shell shock?" Steve cut in, confused.

"Pretty much," Agent Coulson said with a grimace. Steve frowned, standing straight and looking around in puzzlement. Then why was everyone talking so freely about it? "It's dealt with in more pleasant ways than it used to be, Captain. The treatments for it nowadays are a lot more...humane," The man added, like he'd read Steve's mind. "It isn't something to be ashamed of anymore."

"Like Thor said," Dr Banner continued. "It affects many people; mainly soldiers, but not always," Steve felt several eyes on him at the mention of soldiers, but tried to ignore the stares. It was all irrelevant, anyway. Steve didn't have this...PTSD thing. "If Stark has it, then that could explain why he ran off. Maybe he had a flashback. Or...he was triggered in another, non-PTSD-related way."

Agent Romanov raised one of her perfectly-plucked eyebrows. "I thought you weren't that kind of doctor, doctor."

Dr Banner made a face. "I'm _not_ ," He protested defensively. "I'm just telling you what I know. That doesn't mean I'm a qualified—"

"Alright, that's _it_ ," Steve interrupted, silencing their debate. _"I'm going to go find him,"_ He repeated for the third and final time, folding his arms. "Because _arguing_ about the situation isn't going to get us anywhere."

Further protests were made as Steve left his chair and marched away from the table, but he ignored them obstinately. They were most likely right with what they were saying — _you'll just make things worse; he probably doesn't want to see you anyway_ — but Steve refused to acknowledge them as he left the room; he still needed to confirm his suspicions, and the only way to do that was to confront Stark. Because if he was right — if the reason why Stark had fled was the same reason as to why his wrists (more specifically, his Names) were currently tormenting him with pain — then he couldn't just sit by and do nothing.

He'd waited seventy years for this. He wasn't about to let it go.

* * *

_Get a hold of yourself, Stark. It's just a panic attack. Stop rolling about on the floor and get up. Get up!_

Tony forced himself to stand. His legs buckled several times before he managed to successfully upright himself, he had to hold onto the wall for support, and he still couldn't really breathe properly...but at least he was now standing.

Though his forearms still ached and his wrists felt like someone was holding a lighter up against his skin, Tony tried his best to stay calm. _Steve Rogers is a common name. Maybe it's just a coincidence? Just because your wrists are—that doesn't mean—it might not be—_

_Who am I kidding?_

* * *

Even though the corridors were flooded with a sea of blue and black jackets and uniforms, it wasn't difficult to discover where Stark had gone.

Because, as Steve strode past the wide variety of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents — who seemed to be everywhere, crawling around the place like soldier ants, determined to complete their missions — and turned left at the first corner he came to, he was faced with a gathering crowd of people outside a set of double doors. Everyone was sharing glances with each other, whispering and gossiping about whatever was inside. Their voices were suspiciously quiet, like they knew they weren't supposed to be there and were afraid of being caught, but with his enhanced hearing, Steve could easily pick up what they were saying.

"How long has he been _in_ there?"

"Is he ok?"

"He looks kinda pale."

"Should we tell Director Fury?"

"And reveal to him that we've been stood here all this time instead of doing our jobs? Are you crazy? No!"

"Well, we have to do some—"

"Wait, he's moving. He's standing up!"

"Someone should go in there."

"I think I'd rather face the Red Skull then deal with—"

Steve cleared his throat.

"Shit!"

About seventy-five percent of the agents in front of him visibly flinched, and all at once they spun around on their heels, revealing their startled, red faced, which, as a whole, Steve noticed, appeared to be quite young. Ah, that makes sense.

"It's Captain America!"

"Yeah, no _shit_ , Sherlock—"

"Excuse me," Steve cut in, trying his best to sound authoritative and commanding. "But I'm looking for someone. I don't suppose any of you have seen—"

"He's in there!" Someone announced from the back of the crowd. Their face was hidden amongst the other agents, and so Steve found it hard to spot where the voice had come from (though it was clear to anyone that their accent was definitely Scottish). But then someone with light-brown, curly hair and a fresh, youthful profile was raising their arm and pointing their finger at the doors in front of them all with a proud grin on their face. Steve sent them a grateful smile, mentally taking note of their name tag — _Leopold Fitz,_ it read. _Level 5. Engineering_ — to make sure that they could later be rewarded for their efforts, and then proceeded to move forward.

Immediately, the crowd divided into two, leaving a pathway for Steve to go through, and the blond couldn't help but feel like Moses parting the Red Sea as he walked passed, not at all oblivious to the whispers and stares he received as he went by (he was used to it, though; he was Captain America).

Steve could already see a Stark-shaped silhouette through the two tiny windows on each door before he'd even stepped into the room. So this was where he'd run off to, then. An empty conference room? Steve wondered if it was an intentional or random choice.

Surprisingly, Stark didn't react to the sound of someone entering — as Steve approached him, he got a better look at the man: he was staring blankly at a wall with his hands behind his back; his hair was a tousled mess, like he'd been running his fingers through it — but when Steve opened his mouth and spoke, the brunet immediately flinched, his back straightening and his hands falling by his sides.

"Are you alright?" Steve began, unsure, really, of what else to say.

The brunet didn't mutter a single word in reply, nor shrug his shoulders, like Steve had expected. He just kept staring at the wall.

Steve exhaled a long sigh. He'd always hated awkward silences.

"You know," He said slowly, leaning against the grey wall behind him and folding his arms. He was only a few meters away from Stark, and, at this angle, he could only see the man's side profile. "S.H.I.E.L.D. always referred to you as 'Mr Stark' whenever they spoke about you; they never once revealed your first name. And I...I've been searching for someone — someone with the last name 'Stark' — for a very long time. I doubt I have to explain why given your reaction back there to my name."

Stark remained silent, and, at first glance, unmoving. However, Steve didn't miss the way his eyes darted to his left — the side Steve was facing — after hearing that last sentence.

He'd finally caught Stark's attention.

"When I heard that I was joining this team and that you were on it, I immediately assumed that the 'Stark' I was looking for was a relative of yours," Steve chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, and unfolded his arms. "I thought, 'No...there's no _way_ I'm lucky enough to meet them so soon, not after just joining the team'. I figured that you'd introduce me to them; that I'd meet them that way."

As expected, Stark didn't seem bothered by Steve's words. But the blond wasn't blind: he saw how the brunet's fingers twitched by his sides; how his eyes widened just a fraction at this confession.

"But I just realised..." Steve continued, an amused half-smile on his face. He cocked his head to the side; let out a breathy laugh. "And, _boy_ , do I feel stupid now..." He averted his gaze to the floor, wondering how to phrase what he wanted to say. Should he be careful with his words? Or should he just blurt it all out? He decided on the latter. After all, Stark did seem like the type of person who you couldn't bullshit-your-way-through-a-conversation with. He'd probably prefer it if Steve was straight-forward with him. "That I'm never going to meet this 'relative' of yours — and you're not going to introduce them to me — because they don't exist, do they?" He took a deep breath, then declared, "It's _you_ , isn't it? You're Anthony Stark. You're the person whose name I have on my—"

"It's Tony."

Steve practically jumped out of his skin at the interruption, and sharply twisted his head towards Stark with a startled look in his eyes.

Like before, Stark's body was facing away from him, but now his head was turned to his left, so that he was looking over his shoulder, directly at Steve; the way Steve had reacted to the sound of his voice seemed to amuse him, if the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips was anything to go by.

"Sorry," Stark said, not sounding apologetic at all. "It's just, I'm not—I don't—" He sighed in frustration, and turned his face away from Steve again. The blond noticed the way his shoulders sagged slightly (and how he shoved his hands in his pockets) and tilted his head in confusion, quirking an eyebrow. Stark inhaled slowly, then finally said, "Howard called me Anthony...and we—we never—he wasn't exactly..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Well, he wouldn't have won a father-of-the-year award, put it that way."

Steve's face fell a fraction. He'd known Howard Stark, of course, back in his army days, and while he couldn't say much about what Howard was like as a father, the Howard he'd known was undoubtedly a great man; one who'd done a considerable amount for the war effort. But the way Stark had described him just now (even though it was only in a few words; even though Steve barely knew him that well) and the actual tone of his voice, too — harsh and aggrieved — made Steve suddenly question whether or not Howard was as fantastic as he'd pictured him to be later on in his life.

Stark shrugged — the sudden movement drew Steve out of his thoughts and back to reality — and admitted, "I just prefer to be called Tony."

_Tony._

"I understand," Steve replied, although, really, there were many things at that moment in time that were confusing him (they were mostly Howard-related things). "And I'm sorry if I said anything that—I didn't realise—"

"S'fine," St—Tony muttered, shrugging again. He was clearly uncomfortable about the subject, so Steve decided not to press any further, scratching the back of his neck. Tony shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly as an uncomfortable stillness filled the room. However, the silence didn't last very long; after a few minutes, Tony reluctantly turned around to face Steve — though he kept his eyes on the floor. "What are you doing here, Rogers?" He finally asked with a small sigh.

Steve raised an eyebrow, moving away from the wall, and stated, "I wanted to ask you something. And...I also wanted to make sure you were okay." The last part came out a lot quieter than he expected, but Tony definitely still heard:

" _Right_ ," He suddenly sneered, stepping forwards. His tone was suddenly bitter — just like it had been when he was talking with Howard — and there was an furious look in his eyes. Steve's eyes widened in surprise. What had brought this on? "Because we're both so _close_ to each other that it was only _natural_ for you to check up on me."

* * *

The look of confused hurt on Ste—Rogers' face made Tony feel temporarily guilty (and, he had to admit, his tone had been a little harsh) but the more he looked at Rogers, the more he saw kind eyes and a generous smile and soft hair and golden skin and perfect muscles and—

And a future full of love and warmth and the comfort of coming home to a husband and—and maybe even children—and—

And everything Tony couldn't have.

_I can't let him fall in love with me._

"Tony," Rogers said, his voice surprisingly soft as he walked closer to him. "We've only just met—"

_I'm broken._

"I was being sarcastic—"

_It'll only end badly for us._

"—so yeah, maybe we're not that close yet," Rogers continued, pointedly ignoring Tony's interruption. He very clearly knew that Tony had been sarcastic. "But it was only right for me to come and see you, what with us..." The blond took a deep breath then, like he was preparing himself for something, but before Tony could say anything, he was continuing with: "What with us being soul—"

And suddenly Tony felt all of his emotions — the anger, the frustration, the confusion...and the fear — inside of him erupt like a volcano.

"We are _not_ soulmates!" He yelled, surprising not only Rogers but himself; he hadn't expected his voice to be so loud.

Rogers was watching him with wide, devastated eyes (sort of resembling a kicked puppy, Tony thought glumly) and upset was written all over his face as he took a few tentative steps away from Tony.

"How can you _say_ that?" He questioned, quietly and sadly. He lowered his head in disappointment, and weakly waved an aimless hand in Tony's direction. " _How_...how can you—"

"Because it's—it's true—" Tony stammered, running a hand through his hair. _I can't let him fall in love with me._ "We're not soulmates. I'm—" _I'm broken._ "You should stay away from me, Rogers." _It'll only end badly for us._

Tony let out a shaky sigh, keeping his head titled forward to avoid meeting Rogers' gaze; he couldn't look him in the eye. Not after—

"Why would I do that?" Steve uttered softly, suddenly sounding quite heartbroken. "Tony, I—I've waited so _long_ —"

Tony looked lugubriously down at his wrists, picturing the Names in his mind sorrowfully. "You don't understand," He mumbled. _I'm broken I'm broken I'm broken I'm—_ "And I—I can't explain—"

"Tony, _please_ —"

"Just leave me alone, Rogers," Tony breathed, closing his eyes and exhaling a long, tired sigh. "Please, just—just leave me alone."

_I can't let him fall in love with me._

Steve didn't say anything for a while. The sudden silence was such a change from his constant pleading that Tony felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and guilt instantly washed over him. He knew how long Steve had been waiting for this encounter (and he knew that he'd hurt him massively by pushing him away) but...

_But it'll only end badly for us. You're not just destined to be my soulmate, after all..._

_It's better to break your heart now then later, when it'd only hurt you more. I'm doing you a favour by pushing you away—_

"Tony," Steve's almost inaudible voice cut through the silence like a knife; Tony had to resist the urge to look up and meet his undoubtedly anguished gaze. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

_Why won't I...?_

_Oh, Rogers, if only you knew the truth._

Surprisingly, Tony found himself blinking away unspilled tears — _what the hell_ — as he whispered, "Because if you—if you _knew_..." He took a deep breath. "You'd never want to see me again."

Steve sounded wounded as he replied merely with, "Tony."

The genius knew that if looked up right now and caught sight of Steve's stunning eyes, they'd also be filled with tears; he could feel the agony himself in his heart, and in his wrists...

"I'm sorry," Tony murmured dolefully. "But the best thing for you to do now is forget...all of this. I’m not someone you’d want as a—" God, he couldn’t even say the word. "I’m different. I’m—I’m not what you’d expect...I—I don’t just have one—"

_Boom._

A thundering explosion suddenly ignited — distant yet still booming — and the entire helicarrier lurched violently to the left. Numerous shouts and screams came from the corridor outside. The floor beneath his feet shook like there was an earthquake; Tony let out a startled gasp as he lost his footing and stumbled forward several feet. Luckily, he didn’t fall over, but that didn’t seem to ease Rogers’ panic as he rushed over towards the brunet’s side immediately.

"Oh, my God," He panted, laying a hand on Tony’s shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Tony felt panic rising in his chest — the moment felt all too similar to his time in Afghanistan, before he was kidnapped — but forced it back down into the pit of his stomach, knowing that freaking out right now would only worsen the situation.

"Get _off_ me; I’m _fine_ ," He hissed through gritted teeth, pushing the super-soldier away and standing upright. "What the _hell_ was that?!"

Looking up at Rogers for the first time in what seemed like forever, Tony found that the kicked-puppy look from earlier had vanished from the blond’s face; replacing it was an entirely different look — one of determination and bravery — that Tony mentally dubbed as his 'Captain America face'. His eyes were darting everywhere, checking for possible threats, and when he eventually spoke (after staring worriedly at the hundreds of agents rushing about in every direction outside) his voice was deep and serious.

"I don’t know," He said warily, fingers curling into tight fists. "But—"

_"Stark? Stark?! Do you copy?!"_

Rogers raised his eyebrows in surprised, looking expectantly at Tony.

"Well," The brunet said quickly, avoiding Rogers’ gaze. He craned his neck over his right shoulder to check if the blond was following him as he marched over to the exit. "I guess we’re about to find out. C’mon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Potential Triggers: Tony has a panic attack and flashbacks. A homophobic word is used once during one of these flashbacks.***
> 
> Hi!
> 
> I’m sorry for the long wait for this chapter...slow updates will be common with me, I’m afraid! 
> 
> But here’s the new chapter! How was it? I know Natasha seemed a bit...uh, bitchy, for lack of better word. There’s a reason why, though! You’ll see soon :)
> 
> I wasn’t sure if the weird spaced-out bits (they were supposed to be Tony’s thoughts/flashbacks while he had the panic attack) were okay or if they were really confusing, but I decided to keep them in in the end. I don’t know...it kinda grew on me. 
> 
> And the ‘boom’ at the end. A bit too cringeworthy? ...I wasn’t sure what else to put at that point!
> 
> Still, I quite liked writing this chapter, even if it did take some time! 
> 
> And thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos I received last time I published this — they mean a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God I hope this made sense ajsjsj—
> 
> If you aren’t familiar with my Soulmate/Enemy AU, feel free to check out my Instagram. I’m in the middle of making some edits based around this AU, and they are what I’m basing this fic on. It can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/xmarrrvelx/?hl=en
> 
> [This fic is available to read for free on Wattpad and archiveofourown.org only.]
> 
> This is what Maria says when she speaks Italian (in the order they were said):  
> \- “tesoro” = sweetheart/darling  
> \- “cosa ti ha fatto?” = what did he do to you?  
> \- “oh, bambino. oh, tu poverino” = oh, baby. oh, you poor thing.  
> \- “mio angelo” = my angel  
> \- “vieni più vicino” = come closer  
> \- “piccolo sfacciata” = cheeky thing  
> These translations were made using Google Translate, which I know from experience isn’t always 100% accurate. If you think there is an issue with some of these then please let me know so that I can change them!
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


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